I thought I was the only one

The door to the cellar was open, and he detected a slight movement, as if whoever had opened it had just passed. He listened, but he could hear no sound. That seemed odd, and he cautiously moved toward the cellar.

The door was in an alcove. The glow of the overhead light didn't extend down the steps. Below was an impenetrable blackness.

He slipped his hand under his jacket as he made his way down the steps into the cellar. He didn’t pull the .32 from its holster yet; he knew that whoever was down there would be able to see him better than they could see him. The last thing he needed was someone wrestling a gun from his had while his eyes were adjusting to the gloom.

There were ten, creaking, wooden steps before his foot found the dirt floor. He stepped forward gingerly, his hand feeling along the wall for a light switch he knew must be there.
Suddenly, a voice spoke out of the gloom. He turned toward it, his gun half drawn.

“I thought I was the only one home,” his wife said. “You gave me quite a scare when I heard you come in.”